


come home to my heart

by ghosthunter



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-26 00:06:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14988455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosthunter/pseuds/ghosthunter
Summary: The Caps go to overtime. By the time their game is over, they’re on their way to Columbus to try and eliminate the Blue Jackets, and the Devils are eliminated and on their way back to New Jersey.





	come home to my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ancientdeceiver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancientdeceiver/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [ancientdeceiver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancientdeceiver/pseuds/ancientdeceiver) in the [PuckingRare2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PuckingRare2018) collection. 



> For grubauers in the puckingrare challenge, who requested: specific to johansson/kuznetsov: long distance boyfriends that meet after njd is eliminated from the playoffs and caps still go on
> 
> boy, did the caps ever go on. hope you like it. thanks to jarka for the beta, as always.

The Caps are still in the third period of a game five against Columbus that will either see them going to Columbus to try and win their series, or to Columbus to try and stay alive. Zhenya knows that New Jersey is playing to stave off elimination by Tampa, but that’s all he knows. He can’t watch other scores and keep his head in the game.

The Caps go to overtime. By the time their game is over, they’re on their way to Columbus to try and eliminate the Blue Jackets, and the Devils are eliminated and on their way back to New Jersey.

All Zhenya wants is to call Marcus and ask him when he’ll come to DC. It’s a distraction that Zhenya doesn’t need, and that his coaches would probably rather he not have, but he _wants_. At the same time, he knows that he can’t call, can’t ask his boyfriend to hop on a flight and come to see him, not when Zhenya knows how shitty being eliminated feels. He has to wait for Marcus to call him, to text him, before he can mention it.

Zhenya sees on Twitter that fans showed up to greet the team when they arrived back at their facility in Newark, which he thinks is sweet. He doesn’t see Marcus in any of the pictures. He dozes off watching west coast basketball, stretched out on his couch, and wakes up with a stiff neck to a text waiting from Marcus.

 _break down on tuesday_ , the text says. He doesn’t say if he’s coming to DC, or if he has any plans. That’s all the text says.

Zhenya sighs, and rolls off the couch, turning the TV off and heading to bed. He slides into the sheets and sets his alarm, plugs his phone in, turns off the lamp. Before he puts his phone down to sleep, he responds to the text.

 _love you ((((_ he texts back.

In the morning, there are 73 messages in the team’s group chat, and just one from Marcus.

_love you too_

Zhenya goes to practice and gets on a plane to Columbus that afternoon.

They win in Columbus and move onto the second round, and it fucking sucks that it’s going to be the Penguins again, sure, but they’re going to do it this year. Zhenya feels like it’s different. It should be fucking different.

The Tuesday after they win is an off day, but on Wednesday it’s back to work. Zhenya’s trying not to let it get to him that he still hasn’t heard anything from Marcus. He’s not surprised, not really. He remembers the year before, when he went off to Worlds and Marcus went to Sweden and they didn’t talk to each other until after Worlds.

It would be fine, except Zhenya already knows that Marcus isn’t going to Worlds. He doesn’t expect Marcus to ask or clear it with him, just like Marcus didn’t expect that of him the year before. Zhenya’s his boyfriend, but this is what they do, and who they are. Everything is hockey first. Zhenya tries not to let it get to him.

When he gets home after practice on Wednesday, there’s a familiar car in his driveway. He nearly cracks his head open on the top of his own car scrambling out. He all but sprints into the house, almost crashing into the door frame as he bursts through the door that leads from the garage into the kitchen.

The house is quiet, so he drops his bag at the laundry room doorway as he walks by, and peeks into the living room, but it’s empty and the TV is off. He takes the stairs two at a time up to his bedroom. The door’s cracked open and he can see Marcus’s suitcase sitting at the foot of the bed. Zhenya toes off his shoes inside the door and shrugs out of his hoodie, leaving it in a heap at the end of his bed as well, before crawling under the blankets.

Marcus wakes up when Zhenya’s weight moves the bed, and Zhenya watches as his eyes flutter open slightly, and he smiles as Zhenya’s arms wrap around him. Wearing a thin t-shirt, Zhenya can feel the warmth of his body as his hands slide down Marcus’s back and pull him in close.

He says something, but half-asleep it comes out in Swedish. Zhenya kisses him until Marcus brings his hands up to tangle in Zhenya’s hair.

“English,” Zhenya says.

“I missed you,” Marcus repeats, this time in English.

“You didn’t call before you come down,” Zhenya says. Marcus pulls back and sighs, closing his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Marcus says. “I didn’t. I didn’t want to talk about it, and I didn’t want to be a distraction.”

“You here now,” Zhenya tells him. “You think you won’t be a distraction?”

“Not like I would have been if I’d come straight here from Tampa,” Marcus says. “I thought about it. I wanted to, believe me. But it wouldn’t have been fair to you.”

“You’re always welcome here,” Zhenya tells him.

“I know,” Marcus says. He shifts and pushes himself up so that he’s looking at Zhenya, reaching one hand up to run it over his hair. “I would have just had to go back to Jersey on Monday night, anyway, to be there for break down. That would’ve been a fun conversation. Uh, yeah, I’m not going to take the team flight back because I’m going to take a different flight to go to see my boyfriend, who’s still on my old team. Great conversation.”

“Shut up,” Zhenya says. “So you don’t come because you don’t want to have awkward conversation.”

“No, because I would have gotten here right as you left for Columbus and not seen you at all probably before I had to go back,” Marcus says. “A few hours at most.”

“You didn’t even text,” Zhenya says.

“I drive here from New Jersey to be in your bed when you get home from practice and you’re pouting at me right now?” Marcus asks. He narrows his eyes at Zhenya. “Should I have been naked? Would we be having to have this conversation if I’d been naked when you got here?”

Zhenya tries to fake like he’s shocked that Marcus would suggest such a thing, but he knows himself. They wouldn’t be having a conversation at all if Zhenya had slipped between the sheets and found Marcus naked. Marcus laughs at the look on Zhenya’s face, then kisses him.

“I’m here now,” Marcus says.

“Yeah,” Zhenya says. “You are.”

 

It’s weird for Marcus walking into Verizon Center - no, it’s Capital One Arena now, the place doesn’t even have the same name, and he keeps forgetting - as a fan and not as a player. Even coming back this season on a different team was a different experience, and all he did in the last game was sit in the press box.

He feels weird about joining the Better Halves in the family suite, but most of the wives and kids know him, and it ends up not being as awkward as he feels like it’s going to be. The Capitals don’t win Game One, even though it’s close, and by the end of it Marcus is frustrated and Nicke’s daughter is dozed off against his shoulder. He helps Liza get her tucked into the car, and texts Zhenya to let him know that he’ll meet Zhenya at home.

It’s late, but Marcus makes dinner for the both of them, and is halfway through a glass of wine when Zhenya finally comes in, his hair still damp, and his tie loose around his neck. He slides his jacket off and drapes it over the back of a chair, before walking over and sliding his arm around Marcus, pressing his face against Marcus’s shoulder.

“If you wanna go change, this is almost done,” Marcus says quietly, gesturing with his spatula. Zhenya hums softly, and Marcus feels the vibration against his body more than he hears it out loud.

Marcus puts his spatula down and twists around, hooking his arm around Zhenya’s neck and leaning in to kiss him. “Come on,” Marcus says. “Have dinner with me, and forget about the game.” Zhenya smiles then, and kisses Marcus once more, before pulling away and grabbing his jacket and heading out of the kitchen.

They eat dinner together at the kitchen table in their pajama pants, their feet tangled together and pressed against the tile. Zhenya loads the dishwasher while Marcus pours himself a second glass of wine, and they curl up together on the couch, Marcus dozing while Zhenya watches basketball before they head up to bed.

Zhenya is the most relentlessly positive person Marcus knows. In spite of everything, even when things are hard, or objectively terrible, Zhenya still tries. It’s one of the things that Marcus has loved about him from the start, and one of the things that’s held them together over the last year, when they’ve been separated by miles and hours and Marcus’s concussions.

It hurts to not be playing. It hurts to not be on this ride with the team - a team he played with for seven seasons, and now plays against. It’s been a bad season, and Marcus wants to leave it behind. Coming back to DC, curling up on Zhenya’s couch and letting Zhenya pet his hair (or accidentally pull it every time he gets tense about something happening in the basketball game) is almost like leaving it behind.

The Capitals win Game Two at home and Game Three in Pittsburgh. Even though they lose Game Four, there’s a buzz in the air when the team gets back to Washington.

Marcus goes to Game Five, sits in the stands and chews his thumbnail down to the quick. And the Capitals win.

“You going to come to Pittsburgh?” Zhenya asks him when they’re back home that night, tangled up together in the sheets of Zhenya’s bed. Zhenya’s forearm rests across Marcus’s stomach, his tattoos a dark contrast to Marcus’s pale skin.

“I think it would be too much of a distraction,” Marcus says. He’s gone to the home games, but he’s felt uncomfortable and out of place - acutely aware that Washington is no longer his home, and that this is no longer his family.

“For who?” Zhenya says. “You have such big ego you think I think about you while I’m play hockey? No.”

“No, I’m not saying that I’m saying - fuck you,” Marcus finishes, when he realizes that Zhenya is shaking with laughter. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, but I’m not care, you can come if you want to,” Zhenya says.

“Pittsburgh sucks though,” Marcus tells him. “Make it to the next round, and I’ll go there.”

“Even if it’s to Tampa?” Zhenya asks. Marcus makes a face.

“No, nevermind,” Marcus says. “Fuck that, I’m not going there.”

“Big fucking baby,” Zhenya says, and shifts, reaching down and sliding one hand down Marcus’s bare thigh.

Marcus watches Game Six on Zhenya’s couch with delivery pizza and a few beers. He’s spent more time watching hockey games than playing them in the last year, but by the time the game goes to overtime, he’s a quivering mass of anxiety knelt on the floor in front of Zhenya’s couch.

Zhenya scores and Marcus accidentally flings his beer across the room. He yells, wordless, because his team - no, Zhenya’s team, not his team anymore - is finally going beyond the second round. The feeling is bittersweet, but Marcus doesn’t begrudge a single one of them the elation he sees on their faces as they crash into each other and the boards on the ice.

He drives to Dulles to pick Zhenya up, and he’s so keyed up that he doesn’t doze off while he’s waiting the way he did when Zhenya came home from Pittsburgh a few days before. Zhenya throws his bag into the trunk and slams it shut, then climbs into the passenger seat, then halfway across the console to jam his mouth against Marcus’s so hard their teeth click together.

They’re not gonna fuck in the car, because people can see, but Zhenya is half in his lap and kissing him and Marcus thinks about it, for just a second. But he knows how many people there are wandering around the pickup for this tarmac.

“Don’t get ticket on way home,” Zhenya says, settling into his own seat and buckling in as Marcus starts the car. Marcus laughs, but it catches in his throat as Zhenya rests his hand high on Marcus’s thigh, his hand warm through the fabric of Marcus’s sweatpants.

“You’re not _helping_ ,” Marcus says.

“I’m not trying to,” Zhenya says, his teeth flashing white in someone else’s headlights as he grins at Marcus.

 

The Capitals come out of the gate on fire against the Lightning, and Zhenya’s elated when he gets home. Marcus is quiet when he picks Zhenya up from the airport, and he swears that nothing’s wrong, and that he’s glad that the Capitals are beating the crap out of the Lightning - it’s what they deserve, after all.

“Then what,” Zhenya says.

“Nothing,” Marcus says, and Zhenya knows that it’s Marcus trying not to dwell on his season being over, and Zhenya’s team winning against the team that eliminated Marcus’s.

The rest of the drive is quiet, but after they’re parked in Zhenya’s garage, Zhenya reaches out and grabs hold of Marcus’s wrist. “It’s okay if you’re mad you’re not playing,” Zhenya says.

Marcus turns and looks at him, then takes a deep breath. “The bullshit fucking penalties,” he says, his eyes wide as he looks at Zhenya, completely fucking earnest.

Zhenya starts laughing.

“Don’t fucking laugh at me,” Marcus says. “That’s why we lost. Stupid shit like that puck hitting Hedman and Osh getting the penalty? Not that I want to say anything approaching positive about Boston - “ Zhenya makes a sympathetic noise - “but no wonder they fucking lost if this is how the officiating is going to be.”

“Are you done now?” Zhenya asks, once Marcus has stopped talking and it’s clear he’s not saying anything else.

“Yes,” Marcus says.

“We won anyway,” Zhenya says.

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Marcus says. Zhenya smiles, then leans over and kisses Marcus, wanting the sad downturn of Marcus’s mouth to go away. He knows he can’t reverse what happened to end the Devils’ season, and he can’t reverse Marcus getting traded. They just have to ride it out.

“I know,” Zhenya says, once he pulls away from the kiss. “Nothing gonna change, though. Only moving forward.”

“Yeah,” Marcus says.

Moving forward would be great except the Capitals drop the next two at home and the third one on the road and Zhenya comes home from Tampa after Game Five pissed off. Marcus picks him up from the airport again and neither of them have anything to say. Zhenya stays up watching SportsCenter because he doesn’t want to take his bad mood to bed, and Marcus is already asleep when Zehnya gets there.

Game Six is a shutout.

Game Seven is a shutout.

The Washington Capitals are going to the Stanley Cup Final.

He Facetimes Marcus from his hotel room in Tampa Bay - something they’ve done so many times throughout this season - throughout their relationship, when they’ve spent summers apart. Marcus is grinning when they come face to face.

“You’re going to the Final,” is the first thing Marcus says, before Zhenya can say anything else. Zhenya just makes a wordless noise of joy.

They don’t chat long, but Zhenya doesn’t get the sense that there’s any kind of real jealousy - he imagines Marcus is, on some level, but he seems more happy for Zhenya than anything. It’s something they can talk about later.

“I love you,” Marcus says, just before they hang up.

“Love you, too,” Zhenya says, and they disconnect. If they need to talk about it, then they’ll talk about it later. For now - celebration. And tomorrow, or the next day - back to the grind.

 

Vegas is a lot.

Marcus waffled back and forth on whether he would go, and ended up skipping out on Games One and Two - probably for the best, since Zhenya missed half of Game Two after getting run into the boards. More than half, really, and he doesn’t come back out, and Marcus is getting a taste of what it’s like to be a hockey player’s significant other - the agony of not knowing if Zhenya will come back to the game, if he’s actually injured, or if it’s precaution.

Probably how it felt for Zhenya when Marcus went into the boards in Vancouver, or when Marchand took him out in January. At least Marcus knows that Zhenya’s gone off holding his wrist, and he breathes through it - it’s not Zhenya’s head, it’s his wrist, they can deal with that, it’s more likely to be okay.

It is okay, Zhenya gets cleared for Game Three, and he plays, and the Capitals win. The atmosphere inside Verizon Center - Capital One, he’s never going to remember - is something he’s never felt before, and the Capitals go on to win Game Four as well.

The Capitals are going back to Las Vegas and they could win it all.

So Marcus goes to Vegas.

He’s been to Vegas. He’s played hockey in Vegas. He knows what it’s like, playing there. He saw the pregame on TV, but seeing it in person is somehow more ridiculous. He just wants the game to start. He just wants to get to the hockey.

It’s agony. The Caps are up. The game is tied. The Caps are up. The game is tied. Vegas is up. The game is tied. The Caps are up. The game is over.

The Caps win. The Washington Capitals are Stanley Cup Champions.

He knows he can’t go down and go onto the ice. Zhenya’s family is there - they know about the relationship, the team knows, but Zhenya and Marcus aren’t out - so they’ll go and they’ll hug Zhenya and take pictures with the Cup, and then everyone will go out to celebrate.

So it means that Marcus is waiting in the Zamboni tunnel, in the way of pretty much everyone - press, family, whoever - his baseball cap pulled down low and the Kuznetsov t-shirt he’s worn to every game since the Devils were eliminated stretched tight across his shoulders as he tries and make himself small and out of the way against the wall.

He throws himself into Zhenya’s arms so hard when Zhenya finally comes down the tunnel that they both almost fall over, and it’s weird to be wearing sneakers and have Zhenya towering over him still on his skates. Zhenya smells fucking awful and tastes even worse and Marcus doesn’t care as he fists his hands in Zhenya’s sweater and drags him closer until their mouths meet.

Zhenya pulls away and presses his face into Marcus’s shoulder, and his body shakes, a half-sob muffled. He’s a champion. Finally, finally.

They separate and Marcus leaves to head back to the hotel and Zhenya continues to the locker room for further celebration. Marcus walks back to the hotel, sweaty and buzzing in the 100 degree Vegas night.

He’s not in the same hotel as Zhenya because that’s not how it works, but they’re all supposed to meet back at that hotel for a big celebratory dinner with all the families and the cup. Marcus falls into helping Liza out with Haley and Vince because it’s easy, even though the rest of Nicke’s family is there and could help just as easily. Marcus really just needs something to do with his hands, and toddlers take up a lot of hands.

He’s sat next to Andre’s sister, with one of Nicke’s kids on his lap when the team finally arrives, high on celebration, drunk on champagne. Stanley Cup Champions.

Marcus passes Vince to Nicke’s brother and lets Zhenya throw himself into his arms, and when they kiss his mouth tastes like champagne. He tastes like victory, like celebration. Everyone is yelling, cheering, taking selfies with the Cup. Marcus won’t - can’t - touch it the way everyone else does. He could still win one day, but it won’t be with Zhenya.

It doesn’t matter. He’s here with Zhenya now, sitting at long tables in a ballroom, champagne free-flowing. They’re all drunk by the time dinner wraps up, and the party is moving to a club, to more champagne, to beer, to liquor.

The club is a champagne-soaked blur, alcohol pounding through his veins along with the bass of the music. His hips are pressed against Zhenya’s, Zhenya’s arm slung low across his back, keeping them pressed together. Lights are flashing off the Cup where Ovi is constantly bench pressing it over his head. Marcus’s shirt is soaked through with champagne and sweat.

They end up crammed into a booth, the table covered in empty bottles, empty glasses. Marcus isn’t quite sitting in Zhenya’s lap, but he has one leg hooked over, better leverage for making out. And they’re making out - lazy and drunk, tongues sliding lazily against each other. Zhenya’s hand is on the inside of Marcus’s thigh, his fingers brushing against Marcus’s dick through his jeans.

Marcus is pretty sure they’re not gonna actually hook up in the club, but who would care at this point? The music is non-stop, the champagne is non-stop, Zhenya’s tongue and hands are non-stop. Marcus doesn’t know what time it is.

“Can we go to your room?” Marcus asks, pulling away from Zhenya. “I know this is celebrating but I want.”

Zhenya knows what he wants, because Zhenya’s hand is on his cock under the cover of the edge of their table.

“Yeah,” Zhenya says after a moment, and slides his body from underneath Marcus’s leg, and then out of the booth. He reaches out his hands, pulling Marcus up. “I’ll be right back.”

Marcus finds his way to another beer, uncomfortable standing around in his jeans but confident that the club is dark enough that no one can see the state that Zhenya has put him in. Zhenya manages to make his way up onto the stage, where Ovi is still dancing with the Cup.

Zhenya kisses the Cup goodnight before jumping down off the stage and making his way back to Marcus. He laces their fingers together and leads Marcus out of the club. It’s almost too bright outside the club, standing in the casino. They’re both damp with sweat and champagne, and Marcus feels like his body is still vibrating from the bass inside the club. It’s not like a casino is quiet, but it’s such a drastic noise reduction that his ears are ringing.

Marcus looks at Zhenya, and then they both grin at each other. Zhenya sways forward, and tugs at the bottom of Marcus’s shirt. “Make sure nobody see anything,” Zhenya says, and Marcus reaches out and shoves him.

“Take me up to your room, asshole,” Marcus says.

“You’re so mean to me I shouldn’t,” Zhenya says.

“Oh, I’m mean? You went and made out with the Cup before we could leave,” Marcus shoots back. Zhenya laughs, loud, and Marcus knows that people are looking. Zhenya’s fingers are sticky when they wrap around Marcus’s wrist, and Zhenya starts to pull him through the casino, toward the hotel elevators.

“I didn’t give it tongue!” Zhenya tells him, and Marcus laughs as they stumble after each other to the elevators.

They’re alone in the elevator and Zhenya’s on a high floor, and Marcus pushes Zhenya up against the wall, closing his hands around the railing of the elevator and pinning Zhenya in, pressing their mouths together again.

“You gonna fuck me?” Zhenya asks, bucking his hips up to push Marcus back, breathing heavily.

“Yeah,” Marcus says, and then the elevator dings and they jump apart, startled. Zhenya laughs again, and grabs hold of Marcus’s hand to pull him down the hallway to Zhenya’s room.

It’s cool and quiet and dark inside Zhenya’s hotel room, and the only sounds are their breathing and the hum of the air conditioning. Zhenya pushes Marcus back against the door and flips the lock, then sets to unbuttoning Marcus’s shirt.

They strip each other out of their clothes and tumble together onto the bed. Zhenya slides his hand down Marcus’s ribs, over the curve of his ass and to his thigh, pulling him closer, lifting Marcus’s leg until he hooks it over Zhenya’s hip. Zhenya lines up their hips, rocking them together.

“I’m never gonna be able to fuck you if you keep doing that,” Marcus says. He’s been hard for so long that if Zhenya touches him too much, he’ll come before he can ever get it anywhere near Zhenya’s ass.

“Just a second,” Zhenya says, but he stops rocking his hips. He’s breathing hard, and when Marcus kisses down the side of Zhenya’s neck, Zhenya’s skin tastes like champagne. He lets Marcus push him onto his back, lets Marcus push his legs apart. “Lube in my bag,” Zhenya says.

Marcus rolls off the bed to rummage through Zhenya’s bag. Zhenya shifts on the bed, props himself up on the pillows until he’s watching Marcus. Marcus straightens up from Zhenya’s bag, and smiles at Zhenya lying on the bed. He tosses the lube toward Zhenya, who fumbles the catch. Marcus laughs and climbs onto the bed, settling down next to Zhenya and coating his fingers in lube.

He fingers Zhenya open, pressing their mouths together and swallowing down the whimpers Zhenya makes when he crooks his fingers. He fingers Zhenya until Zhenya is writhing against him, pulling their mouths apart, gasping and begging.

Marcus pulls his fingers away, and Zhenya whines, biting at Marcus’s mouth. Marcus grabs Zhenya by the hips and rolls onto his back, pulling Zhenya up. Zhenya moves to straddle Marcus’s hips, shifts until Marcus can feel the slick of the lube against his cock. Zhenya reaches out and pops the tube of lube open, then reaches between them to wrap his hand around Marcus’s dick.

Zhenya shifts and lines up Marcus’s cock, sinking back and taking Marcus all the way in. Zhenya sighs softly as his body comes to a stop, his hips flush against Marcus’s. They sit that way for a while, Zhenya’s eyes closed, until he finally starts to rock his hips, his cock bobbing up against his stomach. Marcus reaches out, wraps his hand around Zhenya’s cock, jerking him off slowly.

“Go faster,” Marcus says, shifting his legs, bending a knee to give him more leverage to thrust up into Zhenya. Zhenya obliges, moving his hips faster.

They’re both breathing hard, and Marcus comes first, digging the fingers of his free hand into the meat of Zhenya’s thigh. Zhenya moves Marcus’s hand off his cock and jerks himself off, riding Marcus’s cock through Marcus’s orgasm and to his own, until he comes with a gasp, splattering across Marcus’s stomach and chest.

Zhenya sinks forward, kissing Marcus once more before pulling them apart and stretching out beside him. Marcus turns onto his side, wraps an arm around Zhenya and pulls him close.

“Next season you can do this for me,” Marcus says. Zhenya laughs, and pushes a knee between Marcus’s thighs.

“Not if we win again,” Zhenya says. This time, it’s Marcus who laughs.

They lapse into silence, their bodies sticking together as Zhenya’s come dries between them. Marcus is about to doze off, Zhenya’s fingers stroking lazily through the hair at the back of his neck.

“You should clean us up,” Zhenya says after a while.

“It’s your come,” Marcus says. Zhenya laughs.

“Yeah, but I’m Stanley Cup Champion,” Zhenya says. Marcus groans, and Zhenya laughs some more.

“You’re gonna get away with this for about three more days,” Marcus tells him, rolling away from him to get off the bed. He continues talking while he runs water in the bathroom, cleaning himself off before coming back to clean Zhenya up too. “Then I’m gonna start making you sleep in the wet spot.”

“You never would,” Zhenya says. “You love me too much.”

“I do love you a lot,” Marcus says, swiping the washcloth across Zhenya’s body, then tosses it aside and climbs back into bed.

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on twitter @notedgoon


End file.
